


From Afar

by pocket_infinity



Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [3]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Performance Art, Slow Dancing, idk but im putting fluff, is this fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocket_infinity/pseuds/pocket_infinity
Summary: The Pale King has seen Grimm perform before—many times, actually. Rehearsals, in private, even from the sidelines of an actual show while he was hidden from view. But he's never seen a performance from Grimm when he isn't present. When Grimm doesn't know that his lover is watching. And, for just one night, he wants to see Grimm not as The Pale King or his lover, but as just another audience member. Perhaps Brumm could help him do so.
Relationships: Grimm/The Pale King (Hollow Knight)
Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857532
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61





	From Afar

A trio of knocks sounded at the door, snapping the Pale King up out of his trace as he lifted his quill away from the letter mid-word. He blinked twice before setting it down on the desk, lining it up perfectly with the pen he used for hastier things—yes, it was more efficient, but there was a certain beauty in the classical and skillful nature of a quill, was there not? He smiled at the thought as he rose from his chair and turned, folding both pairs of arms under his clothes as he crossed his office. Another set of knocks hit the door.

“Is that you, deare-” he started as he opened it. “Ah. Hello, Brumm. I see that my letter arrived… quickly.”

“Mrm. You are indeed a King. Your couriers are fast,” he replied.

“Yes, but it’s only been…” the wyrm glanced across the room at the clock on his desk. “About an hour and a half.”

“When you never stay still for more than a week, you learn to move fast,” Brumm replied.

“That makes sense, I suppose,” the King said as he stepped aside, opening the door a bit more. “Come in, and I’ll tell you why I called you here. Better sooner rather than later.”

Brumm simply nodded and stepped through the door while the King closed it behind him.

“So why have I been called here?” Brumm asked as the Pale King turned to face him.

“I wish to attend one of Grimm’s shows,” the wyrm replied.

“Well, none of us would stop you—the whole troupe would encourage you to, with how plainly and how much Grimm adores you, mrm.”

“Yes, but-” the Pale King pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I don’t want him—or anyone else—to know that the Pale King even attended that show.”

“Mrm,” Brumm said. “Why not? Are you ashamed-”

“No!” The King replied. “No, no, never—not for one moment in my life could I be ashamed of anything to do with Grimm or his Troupe.”

“Then why the hiding?” Brumm asked.

“Because I want to see Grimm when he’s  _ not _ with me,” the King said. “I’ve seen him dance, heard him sing; he’s let me watch rehearsals, even given performances to me alone. And I appreciate every single one, I do, but with every single one, it’s plain to see that he knows I’m there. I want to see him when he’s not thinking about what I’ll see. I want to see every graceful step and careful movement from afar, completely pure. For a night, I want to be just another attendee to one of the Troupe’s shows, not The Pale King or Grimm’s lover.”

“Mrm,” Brumm said. “So what use do you have for me?”

“You’re his costumer, Brumm—the whole Troupe’s, actually. If anyone can make me not look like me for a while, I figured you would be the best person to call.”

“I see…” Brumm said. “But why not just wear covering clothes or a large robe?”

The Pale King aggressively brightened his glow for a flash before it dimmed back down.

“Point taken—but covering yourself with layers would still work.”

“People get suspicious, and Grimm is no fool. He’d know it was me the moment he saw someone completely covered by clothes. And given my complexion, he’d figure it out with just a glance. So can you help me or not?” The King asked.

“Mrm. I can,” Brumm replied.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he reaffirmed, “but I’ll need to get some things—if you could tell me what styles you’d like, that would be useful.”

The King glanced down at himself for a moment. “Something… layered, I suppose? Or at least big enough to to cover these up,” he said, extending his lower pair of arms. Brumm squinted at him, perplexed at the revelation.

“You have four?” He asked.

“That’s why I wear such loose robes,” the King replied, tucking the lower set back into his clothes.

“Mrm. I merely thought they were elegant yet comfortable.”

“Oh, they very much are,” the King said. “It’s a nice benefit.”

“Mrm… I see. Well, where would you like to meet for this… transformation, I suppose?”

“Anywhere that neither Grimm nor the general populace would see,” the King said with a shrug.

“Deepnest, then?” Brumm asked.

“...I suppose that would be best, yes,” the Pale King said, his eyes darting away for a moment. “I’ll just need to wear something very covering.”

“There’s a smaller nest down and to the left of the stag station. Mrm. I’ll see you there,” Brumm said.

“I see,” the King said as Brumm turned to leave. “And Brumm?”

“Yes, wyrm?”

“Thank you. For all of this.”

“You’re quite welcome. Mrm, and I must say, you are a bit more… casual than I had expected from a king,” Brumm commented.

The King cocked his head. “Well, Grimm considers you his family, does he not?”

“No, he does.”

“Then I’d treat you like mine; there’s no point to be formal with those close to you.”

Brumm smiled. “I see.”

The King smiled back. “I’ll see you in Deepnest in…?”

“One hour, mrm…”

“Lovely.”

“Mrm. See you then, wyrm,” Brumm said as he opened the door to the office.

“See you then,” the King replied, turning back to his desk and lifting his quill to quickly finish the letter he was writing. A few minutes passed, and the King rose, leaving the letter to dry for a few minutes as he quitted his office. He walked swiftly down the halls towards his chambers before twisting the handle and stepping in. He walked to the closet, opening it to reveal rows of outfits, almost all the exact same to each other. He pushed them along the circular ring he had designed specifically to fit more clothes into the limited space, which landed him within the undergarments sector of clothing. Another push and it was the fancy robes and undergarments section, the specific outfit he had worn on his and Grimm’s first date isolated away from the others on its own side. The Pale King smiled before pushing it one more, finally reaching his limited selection of dark and concealing robes.

He pulled one off the ring before closing the closet and dropping the outfit on his bed before walking to the table by the window which his wife had claimed by setting dozens of plants on it, many of them having grown so large that the window needed to be kept open at all times so that they could hang over the ledge. In the midst of them all was a small ring equipped with little round spikes on it. The King sighed as he reached up to one of his horns before gripping it tightly and pulling, twisting slightly. After about a minute of non-stop pulling, it began to loosen. He let go for a moment, shaking his hand before grabbing it again and giving it one  _ very _ strong tug, ripping the extension off, leaving only the little fence spike-like stub of his actual horn.

“Ow.” He said flatly before he placed it on one of the ring’s spikes before moving on to the next. He winced as it came off, continuing the process all the way around his head until all of the extensions were off and placed on their holder. He sighed before turning to the bed.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even wear them…” he grumbled as he picked up the cloak before taking off his normal robes and throwing it on, checking the hood and veil to ensure that they still covered his head right before putting it down and covering the entire cloak with his normal robes. Once he’d finished his annoying complex disguise routine, he left his bedrooms and went straight to the castle doors, stopping a retainer as he neared them.

“We are going for a long walk for time to think and may not return until long past nightfall. Inform the other retainers and anybody else who asks,” he said.

“O-of course, sire,” the retainer responded before running off. The King sighed before leaving the palace, immediately turning towards the hidden stag station. Once there, he quickly reversed the layer of his cloak and robe before ringing the bell. The thundering footsteps of a stag approached a moment later, and the King immediately climbed on, revealing two of his hands in the process.

“Deepnest, please,” he said.

“Yes, your majesty,” the stag said before turning and preparing to take off running.

“It would be appreciated if you did not tell anybody that we were here,” the King said.

The stag nodded back before beginning the journey.

A few minutes passed in silence before the King arrived in Deepnest, stepping off the stag with nearly no sound before leaving. He followed Brumm’s instructions, turning left and jumping through Deepnest’s haphazard platforms as quietly as possible and glancing at each little nest he could find. He squinted at a particularly tiny one before moving towards it and stepping in. It was dead empty, and he sat down to wait.

He let his mind drift away as he sat in silence waiting for Brumm’s arrival, and of course the first place his mind went was Grimm. There was an excited giddiness in his core, one that he had not felt in a long time, at the notion of seeing Grimm’s act from an outside perspective, one free from any distractions or biases, and the time passed quickly before Brumm stepped through the door, staggering back back a moment later, startled at the “stranger” in the black cloak.

“Mrm. I see you arrived a bit early,” he said.

“Hm?” The Pale King replied, snapping out of his trace. “Oh. Yes. I was—I did, I mean. Shall we begin?” He lowered his hood

“First off, you were absolutely right; Grimm would have instantly known it was you if you showed up in that. But we do not have the luxury of infinite time, so we ought get started sooner rather than—are your horns shorter?” Brumm asked.

“Extensions,” the King mumbled. Brumm snickered, and the Pale King sighed.

“Well, let’s see…” Brumm said, placing the case of items he’d brought on the floor and cracking it open. He pulled out a couple of pieces of clothing along with what looked to be just pure padding. “Mrm. So I had an idea while digging through some of the costumes and clothes we sell to visitors,” he said, holding up some of the padding. “If we change your body type, you should be  _ much _ harder to spot—and then we’ll be able to give you tighter clothing, as your arms will blend in better.” He held up one of the bits of padding, squinting at the King.

“That is remarkably clever,” the King replied. “Did you get any ideas about the crown, too?” The wyrm asked.

“Mrm. Indeed I did,” Brumm replied, pulling a fanciful hat from the bin. “I was planning to attach a veil, but it’ll work better on its own with the shorter horns.”

“Right,” the King said. “And the face?”

“Mrm. Only one really effective thing came to mind, but you are most certainly not going to like it,” Brumm said, reaching into the case. “You see, we do sell masks—sort of—but only half ones,” he continued, retrieving a mask that, sure enough, would only cover mostly the right half of the King’s face.

“So what about the rest?” The wyrm replied.

“Well…” Brumm reached into the case and removed a single large can before pulling two smaller ones from the case as well.

“Oh,” the King replied. “Is that-”

“Face paint? Yes. It’s something we do during larger collections of shows, but the amount you need is going to be less than comfortable. Are you okay with that?”

“If that’s what it takes, then yes,” the King replied with a nod.

“Mrm. Well, we should get started, then,” Brumm said, handing him a pair of pants. “Put those on and then we’ll start with the padding.

The King gave a brief nod before slipping out of the cloak and his robes to pull the pants up to his hips, fastening them with the belt Brumm handed him after. Next came the padding: the King curled his lower atoms around his body as best he could before Brumm threw on some bits to pad out the chest, lower flanks of the abdomen, and the space between the two sets before giving the King a shirt to put over them. He took a step back and looked at it.

“Mrm… needs just a little bit more,” he said before reaching into the trunk and pulling out some scarves and other small items to fill gaps. “That should do it,” he said after stuffing them in. “It looks a little odd, but the other layers should cover that up.”

“Other layers?” The King asked.

“Just two,” Brumm replied.

“Good gods… I’m already starting to burn up in here.”

“Mrm, now you know how the performers feel,” Brumm replied. “But I made the other two very light materials. They should be breathable.”

“Thank you,” the King replied as Brumm pulled a classier shirt and a jacket from the trunk, both of which were quickly tossed on by the King. “This feels… incredibly strange,” he said.

“We’re not quite done yet,” Brum said, pulling over the largest lidded bucket. He popped it open and retrieved a large brush from the case, as well as two finer ones. “Mrm. We’re going to have to be quick with this; I need to get back to the Troupe to help set up. Just sit still and don’t fuss,” Brumm said as he picked up the mask and placed it against the King’s face for a moment before pulling it back.

“Alright,” the King replied.

“And close your left eye,” Brumm said, and the King closed it tight. “Not tightly.” The King relaxed it. “Now let’s get this done.”

Brumm dipped the brush into the paint before pinching one of the King’s horns to hold him still and immediately went to covering about half of the King’s face in broad, parallel strokes of black paint, not giving him much time to react as it brushed over his mouth and closed eye.

“That’s the face,” he said once he was done. “Open your eye.”

The Pale King let his eye flutter open, and it twitched consistently at the paint. “This feels… awful,” he said.

“Mrm. It’ll be better once it dries—should be soon. Now I need to do the rest of your head. Look up,” Brumm replied, waiting a moment for the King to do so before covering his jaw and the front of the neck before shifting down to his collar. He lifted the collar of the three shirts away and traced a single, long line around them.

“Hold that,” he said, and the Pale King pinched the collar. Brumm quickly shifted, moving to the side of the King’s neck. “Bend that way,” he said, tilting the King’s head to open the shell a bit more and cover it with paint. “And the other,” he continued, repeating the same on the other side. “Now look down,” he ordered, covering the back of the King’s neck before pulling back up to cover the rest of his head. He tapped the paint around the King’s collar. “It’s dry; you can let go now.” The King dropped it. “Roll up your sleeves, hold out your arms, palm up, and flex your claws out and back as far as you can,” Brumm said. He ran the black brush about halfway up the King’s forearms before coming back down and getting his claws and palms. “Flip them over and ball your hands into fists,” he said before getting the back of his hands and his claws. “Open your claws back out again,” he said, this time getting the sides and in between his claws.

“There,” he said, setting the brush down atop the can before picking up one of the finer brushes and one of the smaller cans. “Now it’s just details on the face.”

“Is it necessary?”

“Yes; the more you look like someone indulging in festivities, the less you look like The Pale King.”

“Very well…” the King replied.

“Close your eye again,” Brumm said before coming in with the white paint and drawing a straight line from the King’s forehead to his jaw, intersecting the top and bottom of the eye but not crossing it fully. He set that brush down before taking the finest of the three and dipping it into the red paint before moving towards the King’s eye and painting a winged tip onto the edge of it.

“Mrm. Done,” he said before reaching down and rubbing the top and bottom of the King’s arms. “And you can roll your sleeves down. Try not to blink too much.”

“O-okay,” the King said, letting his eye open and rolling down his sleeves. “And you’re sure I’ll blend in?”

“I did inverse Troupe colors; it’s one of our most popular,” Brumm replied, tossing the mask and hat onto the King before beginning to pack up his supplies. “Just don’t show up until two or three performances into the night—oh, and that reminds me. Mrm.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket before removing a red pamphlet and handing it to the King. “The show list,” he said. Before returning to hastily packing up.

“Thank you, Brumm,” the King said.

“Mrm. Of course,” he replied. “Always happy to help family—especially with something so comedic.”

“Comedic?” The Pale King asked.

“To me, at least,” Brumm said before closing the case and stepping out of the nest. Hardly a moment passed before he returned to the doorway to say: “Oh, and don’t go through the front entrance. I’ll leave a tent flap open around the left side. Mrm.” He disappeared back into the rest of Deepnest right after.

The King sat there blinking for a moment before looking down at the pamphlet in his now paint-covered hands. “A Complete List of All Shows This Evening” was printed on the red paper cover in beautiful calligraphy and bordered within a black box. He opened it, and, true to the title, there was a list of show names followed by their type, time, and performers, in that order. The King looked them over, finding that a number of them occurred simultaneously—perhaps Brumm had meant for him to wait three  _ sets _ of shows before appearing, not three shows outright. In any case, he glanced over the “Performers” section, finding Grimm to be, far and away, the most frequent appearance. After him was the Grimmkin, of course, but after them was a performed called “Talia the Flame Demon.” From there similarly fanciful titles appeared, covering dozens of acts and shows. The list stretched on for three full pages of the pamphlet in fine writing, and the King focused his attention to every show that Grimm was present in, searching and searching through the names on the list. “Welcome to the Inferno,” a fittingly cheesy title for the first show. “Ballad of Heart and Flames,” keeping consistent with the style of the previous. He continued to glance down the list, crossing through the second and third page of titles until he reached the last one and froze. “Dance of a King and a Fool,” it was called; Grimm was the sole performer.

“You sappy, adorable bastard…” the King said, rubbing over the title with one of his claws before tucking it into his pocket. He paused, looking around for a moment before realizing that there was not a single clock in the room. “Damn it,” he sighed before looking down at himself. He couldn’t just waltz out into public looking like  _ this _ . He let out a huff before turning back to the ground, finding his old cloak and robes still sitting on the ground. Another layer sounded like hell to his already overheated body, but a wyrm has to do what a wyrm has to do.

He tossed the cloak over his body, bundling his royal robes underneath it before stepping out into deepnest. He clambered between platforms until he managed to make it back to the stag station and ring the bell. The footsteps rumbled the earth again until the stag skidded into view, stopping in front of him.

“Dirtmouth, please,” he said as he hopped on, and the stag took off the moment he was steady.

“Thank you,” the wyrm said as he stepped off into Dirtmouth’s station before looking around the room and quickly finding a clock. About half an hour remained until he could slip in through that side entrance, and so he simply walked to the elevator and let it carry him up. Even from afar he could hear the music and crowd within the circus. How Grimm could stand that for hours on end was something the wyrm would never quite understand.

Stepping out into the cool air, the wyrm found the layer rather a bit, as Brumm had promised, breathable, making their heat not quite so bad as he moved to the bench in the center of town. He let out a sigh as he sat down. Half an hour. He’d gone through longer waits. He propped his arm up on one of the head rails before resting his head upon it. Just… a half hour. He yawned. Not long at all—and he didn’t  _ need _ to be there immediately, right? Honestly, it might be suspicious if he did. Going to every single show that Grimm was present for? The man would catch on immediately. And being fully awake and present would surely be a benefit, no? The King rested his head on the back of the bench, the hat staying firmly on his head under the cloak, and he let his eyes close for just a moment.

He jolted up at the sound of a bell tolling, and quickly turned to look at the clock. Four hours had passed since he fell asleep. He checked the pamphlet; fifteen minutes were left before the final show. Spitting out a barrage of curses, the wyrm sprung up from the bench and sprinted off towards the Troupe’s show. The entrance had been completely closed, which honestly was more of a benefit—nobody around to see him run up. He curved around the left side of the tented wall, running his hand along it until one flap gave way. In an instant, the cloak and his more formal robes were tossed to the ground as he slipped into the carnival, moving to blend with the relatively sparse crowd of people left as they moved into the last show. He followed suit, slipping into the large tent and finding as good a seat as he could manage with his late arrival.

“Excuse me,” he asked the person next to him in a deeper voice than his normal, “do you happen to know how long until the show starts?”

The person checked their watch. “Five minutes,” they replied.

“Thank you,” the wyrm replied, turning back to the center of the room.

The five minutes passed in a flash, and the lights in the tent went down—all the way down, to total darkness. A murmur ran through the crowd while the King stayed totally silent as he glanced around him. Not a single trace of his glow remained, thanks to Brumm. He folded his hands in his lap and waited.

From the total darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the center of the stage. They disappeared and reappeared from the King’s perspective a few times, total silence holding the room before the thud of a foot sounded through it, and a wave of red flames shot out from Grimm’s feet, gliding across the floor and giving brief illumination before they dissipated, returning the tent to its natural darkness. The eyes appeared, alone again, and they alternated from apparent to invisible much more quickly as Grimm entered into what appeared to be a spin. 

Much smaller flames burst into life at his feet, flicking and burning there as Grimm continued to spin around and around, seemingly impossibly fast. Faint piano appeared in tandem with the small flames, and violin accompanied it as a pair of cherry-red flames appeared along Grimm’s horns, illuminating his face and just a bit of his chest as he closed his eyes. A flame sparked in the center of his chest just as he brought his hands in, accelerating the spin before one of his legs bent, bringing him towards a crouch before he spring up off of the ground.

He flung his hands out as he twirled in the air, the flame at his core vanishing as eight evenly-spaced lanterns hanging from the ceiling burst to life, observing his graceful fall he continued to spin. He stuck a leg out under him, landing on it with a perfectly-executed, graceful bend to the knee as he continued his now-decelerating spin, the piano beginning to swell, and his other leg extended out behind him while his arms remained beautifully suspended on either side of his torso, their darkness a perfect complement to the red of his chest—and that was when it hit the King. Grimm wasn’t wearing his cloak. He had a piece of clothing covering the area below his belt—a rather  _ tight _ piece of clothing, albeit—but the rest of his body was completely exposed as he tilted himself back upright, bringing his arms into hold each other as he came to a stop slowly, the flames at his head and feet slowly going out as he visibly pulled in and let out a breath. The King’s heart already throbbed at the sight before he could move beyond the introduction of the performance.

He drifted with such graceful and smooth motions as he shifted his footing slightly, each movement careful and chosen yet seeming totally free. There was a fluidity to his movements, a serenity born of cold apathy and sanctified in the knowledge that he would never see anyone in that audience ever again.

Grimm shifted his arms, bringing his hands to their opposite elbows before quickly dragging them down his arm in opposite directions, a flame sparing at his fingertips when the two crossed each other, and the violin built and fell in tandem. He held his arms out fully straight, two fingers extended on each hand with the flame just beyond them before he began a brief spin. As he brought it to a hard stop, the piano and violin moving with him, he passed a flame from one fingertip to the other, leaving two dancing around his hand before he flicked his wrist, casting both of them out together. They sparked to life a foot away from his hand, drawing the shape of a single lotus petal before bouncing off of each other and each starting a new petal before continuing from there, constructing a whole flower around the back of Grimm’s head as he moved his body slowly, carefully through turns and spins, ending in an agonizingly slow backwards cartwheel. 

He looked so  _ vulnerable _ with each and every movement he made as the flames came back to his outstretched palms before he brought them close to his face and softly blew them off. They sparked to larger, much more pink flames as they landed, twirling into their own spiraling pyre before the vortex vanished entirely, revealing what was inside of it: a flaming silhouette stood still in its place. A small one, with a tail. And four arms. And barely-visible spikes on his head, so small that you’d have to truly look hard to see them. A silhouette of the Pale King. The actual King felt tears well up in his eyes.

Grimm’s eyes finally opened again, staring at the silhouette. He extended a hand towards it, and it reached an upper arm back to take his. Grimm brought the flaming creature into a slow waltz, closing his eyes once more as the flower-halo fell from his head to line the floor beneath the two of them. The little figure placed his lower hands behind his back as the two danced before Grimm brought him into a beautiful spin, both pairs of arms extending up his sides while the tail came into perfect alignment with the legs. The Pale King felt his breathing start to get caught in his throat.

Grimm lowered his hands, grabbing the creature below the upper arms and lifting it as he spun. The silhouette held itself stiff in the air, both pairs of arms extended outward as Grimm’s spin slowed, and he lowered the silhouette to the ground. The moment its feet met the earth, it turned away from him, and he turned away from it before the figure melted back into fire, becoming part of the lotus beneath his feet. Grimm stepped to the center of the lotus, holding his arms once again as he gazed up to the ceiling. The flames of the lanterns and lotus slowly began to curl and flow towards him, feeding into his core as he began another spin. Licks of flame appeared from all around the floor, flowing towards Grimm faster and faster as they came into his own spinning pyre. He extended his arms out, opening his eyes and letting them glow their brightest as he began to float into the air within the pyre, the lotus and the lanterns long since extinguished. Then, in one quick moment, all of the flames collapsed into his heart, leaving the tent totally dark, save for his eyes. And then he closed those, too.

The audience rose, giving a full standing ovation with magnificent cheers and cries of joy.

The Pale King sat frozen in his seat, tears rolling down his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the music from this playing while I wrote: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4ICFmAr_DQ
> 
> @pocket-infinity on tumblr


End file.
